I should hate him. I should run. But every time he's near, his darkness pulls me deeper, and I fear I'm already lost. His hands move with possession, his voice a low growl against my skin. "You're mine, and I'll never let you go." I don't know how I can want him after everything he's done. Maybe I've lost my mind. I must have. But it's too late now. I want him, even as I hate myself for it. His grip tightens, and I shudder, knowing I can't fight this any longer. "You crave what you fear," he whispers, his lips brushing against my ear. "I crave you more than blood now, but I will make you crave blood more than you crave your freedom." Somehow, this darkness feels familiar. I can't tell if he's broken me or if I've broken myself. Maybe I never stood a chance. He broke me, and now I can't tell if it's the pain or the pleasure that keeps me tethered to him.